


I'm Your Biggest Fan

by Yung_Mofftiss (OnWednesdaysWeStudyinPink)



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, Pop Music RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-18
Updated: 2010-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnWednesdaysWeStudyinPink/pseuds/Yung_Mofftiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>originally posted here: http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/30726.html?thread=3890182</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Your Biggest Fan

She was glittering and sparkling and a living mirror ball, wild and beautiful and so amazing to stare at that Gillian couldn't think straight. She could imagine David making some sarcastic comment about Lady Gaga being from another planet but Gillian, thinks the musician is a walking, talking piece of art.

They were mutual fans, both reduced to nervous girls with crushes. Smiling and blushing they introduced themselves to one another backstage, making casual references to one's music and the other's tv show and how much they liked one another's work. The musician takes her by the hand and invites her to a midnight cup of tea back at the private motor coach she travels from concert to concert in. Gillian agrees and they leave the hustle and bustle of other people behind.

The tea is warm and comforting, Gillian's served in fine bone china with 24k gold designs on the handle and saucer. They make small talk and the spark between them is ridiculously obvious, but both know if would be rude to rush through the tea to get to what they really want.

In the back the private motor coach the musician tours in is the 'bedroom', a cramped private room that is mostly taken up by the bed with enough foot room around it that they can shut the flimsy door and tentatively help one another undress, Gillian out of her concert shirt and jeans and the musician out of her glittering costume. She had a circular matress and while Gillian's mind would normally assosiate it with porn or the 70s, the amount of soft pink and bright white didn't seem cheesy or sleezy, just the bed of a megastar who deep down was just another girl. 

"Just call me Gaga," she instructs kindly as they sink into the soft down.

Their legs intertwine, hands exploring and feeling one another for the first time; their voices are quiet and their movements languid, stark contrast to the concert that ended less than an hour ago. Gaga finally takes the top position, Gillian smiling against her as they kiss. Two of Gaga's fingers slide inside of her and Gillian's own fingers thread through the musician's lush golden curls, her mind registering the feeling of extensions and silky tresses lightly held together with hairspray. 

It's blissful, relaxing, and Gillian basks in the feeling of the younger woman's hand touching her. There's a large silver disk above the bed, small mirrored tiles that break up their refections in the most beautiful abstract colours and Gillian closes her eyes, her mind lost in thoughts of a space ship hovering above them.

 


End file.
